


I love to love (but my baby loves to dance)

by sailorkittycat



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: Angst, Break Up, F/M, Fluff, Get back together, Second Chance, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 21:57:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8684914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorkittycat/pseuds/sailorkittycat
Summary: OC is worried that Tom likes dancing more than her





	

If there was one thing that I knew for a fact, it was that Tom loved dancing. You could find him on the dance floor at any given party, club or wedding, which consequently, was where we met. I hadn’t brought a date, deciding that a tall glass of something could be my companion for the evening. I suppose I wasn’t wrong, because Tom had come into my line of vision at that moment. I watched him, every limb radiating joy as he grooved around the floor. If it wasn’t his moves that made him stand out, it was his height, or the fact that he was the youngest person dancing. I giggled, as several elderly members of the dance floor looked at him, scandalised by the way his hips rolled to the beat. He must have heard me because he looked up, catching my eye and grinning.

“Dance with me” he said, offering his hand.

“I’m not very good” I warned but he just laughed.

“Doesn’t matter” he shrugged.

The first few songs were some retro tunes; the kind that came out way before you were born but you somehow know all the lyrics to. It was fun to let go and dance but the music was starting to wind down. Slow music meant slow dancing.

Before I could open my mouth, in an attempt to escape, Tom wrapped his arms around my waist, encouraging me to sway with him. It gave me the opportunity to catch my breath, but my heart continued to hammer against my ribs.

We had since named the occasion as our first dance, as well as our first kiss. Since then we had began dating steadily, spending our weekends together. Tom would insist on going out, if there was a party he’d be there; if there wasn’t then he could always rely on one of London’s clubs to welcome him. I liked spending time with him, I even liked dancing with him, but sometimes it felt like that was all we would do. I lived for the moments when we were at home, collapsed on the bed afterwards, nuzzling into him, pressing kisses wherever I could reach.

I tried to suggest a night in, there was nothing wrong with a few films and some take away pizza but he was adamant on painting the town red. Lately, I had taken to lying, telling him I wasn’t feeling well just so that I could wallow in my own cowardice. I wanted to tell him how I felt, or rather, how ‘we’ felt. I wanted a deeper connection, something beyond a dance and a peck. I wanted to talk, it didn’t matter about what, but loud music and strobe lights make it difficult to have meaningful conversation and we were too tired to talk afterwards.

It had come to me one night, after once again, declining his invitation to the newest club opening up. Maybe Tom didn’t actually like me. He could have simply felt sorry for me at the wedding and kissed me out of pity. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t want to move forward in any areas as well (namely, the physical side of things).

They always tell you to be the bigger person, but they never talk about how hard it is to swallow your pride and do what’s right over what’s easy.

I had to do it. I had to break up with him.

I had called him the next day, requesting to speak to him face to face. He, of course, agreed before changing the subject completely to that of a party happening, which only made me sigh internally. I knew work was stressful; acting was no picnic, but there were other ways to let off steam. Dancing may be his favourite way to relax after intense days of filming, but would it kill him to take a break from it?

I needed him to listen.

***

I knew it was him at the door, his distinctive three raps against the wood of my door, never failed to exude excitement for the night ahead. I tugged at the long hem of my jumper, pushing myself to walk towards the door and open it. I knew what I needed to say. The moment I opened the door however, catching sight of Tom in his white shirt and dark jeans, the words got stuck in my throat.

“Hey” He frowns, cocking his head to the side “you’re not ready.”

“Um, no, I can’t- I mean, I’m not going.” I tried my best to sound confident but I didn’t dare look him in the eyes. Instead I stared down at my jumper clad arms; I had bunched the material in my hands, making them into fists. It was easier than looking at him.

“Why not?” He sounded like a wounded puppy and when I peeked up, he looked like one too. His eyes were wide, confused, an endless pool of baffled blue.

“Tom” I took a deep breath, forcing myself to look at him “I really like you.”

He chuckled “well, I really like you too.”

“Do you though?”

“You don’t think I do?” Now he looked more hurt than confused.

“You never want to talk” the words shot out of my mouth “you don’t want this… Whatever ‘this’ is to go anywhere.” My voice isn’t hysterical but I can feel myself losing control, the lump in my throat (the one I thought was words) doesn’t feel relieved, it only feels tighter, rawer. As if I’ve been screaming; as if I have been getting hysterical. I take the chance to breathe deeply, hoping it will calm my nerves.

“Ergo” I begin again quietly “you don’t actually harbour any feelings for me.”

He’s stunned. Stood at my doorstep, with the same white shirt and the same wide eyes; stunned.

“Goodbye Tom” I manage to say, though I know that tears threaten to spill the very second I shut the door. I start to close the door but he wedges his hand in, stopping me.

“Wait!”

I reluctantly open the door again, although I’m scared of what he’ll say or do. His eyes dart everywhere, as if chasing thoughts. They finally settle on me and I watch him swallow quickly, he runs a hand through his hair, disorganising the dark brown curls.

“I’m sorry” he blurts out “I’m…” He starts again “I’m sorry, I hate that I made you feel like I didn’t care for you when I do, because I do. I like you immensely, I love spending time with you.”

“Do we spend time together?” I interrupted “We go dancing, you peck my lips, and we fall asleep.”

He clears his throat in response, his shoulders slump “I’m not very good at dating” he admits “my work is my life; I don’t get time for romance. I like it; I’d like to think I’m somewhat good at it but I guess I’m not.” His tongue flicks out to wet his lips, a nervous habit, I decide. “I haven’t dated anyone in a really long time. Sure, I’ve been attracted to girls but I’ve never wanted to pursue it and neither have they and then I see you sitting by yourself and I think, it’s a shame that you’re alone.” I shift on the spot and take to wrapping my arms around myself, in a conscious effort to stay whole. “Any guy would be stupid to not ask you to dance at the very least.”

“So you asked me to dance.”

“I asked you to dance” he sighs heavily “I love how carefree you were in that moment, the way you were willing to accept my invitation, even though you confessed to not being very good at dancing. I liked the way the light caught your eyes and the way your hair looked.”

“Attraction” I identify.

“More than attraction” he stresses “more than physical attraction at least, it was something stronger. I was eager to find out more about you but I got nervous. It’s been literal years since I’ve dated anyone properly, I didn’t know what to do, so I relied on our first meeting for guidance as to things you’d like.”

“Dancing and a kiss.”

“You liked the kiss?”

I stand on the tips of my toes, tugging the lapels of his shirt down so that he’s more or less at my level, before pressing a kiss onto his lips.

“I liked the kiss.”


End file.
